The Long Night
by TinyNuggins
Summary: 7 Years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry is a broken, jaded and bitter man. When an arrest ends with a murdered victim, Harry is forced to face his demons and fight his greatest battle yet.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing but original characters.

Author's notes are not my best feature. If you happen to be reading my other fic The Greatest Game, thank you. This is nothing at all like that fic. This one is based on my love for Neo Noirs such as many Nolan films (especially the Dark Knight Trilogy) Miller's Crossing and Se7en, as well as the Netflix Daredevil and Jessica Jones series (though with way less ninjas). There may or may not be shout outs, depending on how it flows with the story I'm crafting. There will be no latin phrases and few jokes. Hope you like it, please read and review. Insults will be met with scathing sarcasm and snark. So, in the immortal words of Monty Python, "And now for something completely different."

Chapter 1

It was half-past midnight when the call came in. Reports of Death Eaters near Spinner's End. It was a pretty standard call. In the 7 years since the end of the Second Wizarding War ended at the Battle of Hogwarts, the Auror Division has been hunting down any Death Eaters or Snatchers who fled. At least three times a week a call came in to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that known Death Eaters have been cited doing any number of things, from going to the local cinema to terrorizing the neighborhood stray dog. It was exhausting.

Harry Potter, no longer the scrawny, underfed teen he had been during his Hogwarts days. He was now a man, well-toned, with thick stubble covering his face. His hair was just as messy as ever, and his round glasses still adorned his face. But this man was not the same Harry Potter that battled Voldemort all those years ago. No, this Harry Potter was a haunted man, who smelled of alcohol and tobacco, and who didn't go soft on criminals.

Harry often found himself taking the extra, late-night shifts without ever knowing why. Maybe he did it to avoid his home. Maybe he did to avoid his friends. Maybe he did it to avoid sleep. It had been five years and Harry still could not sleep through the night without waking up in a cold sweat screaming. He preferred to work himself to exhaustion before passing out, hoping his mind would be too tired to dream.

It was an inter-departmental memo that had decided to glide roughly into Harry's head, currently on his desk, next to his cup of coffee and ashtray, that woke him up. The note was short. No need for extraneous details for these calls. Just a location and nature of the call. Harry grunted as he pried his eyes open, still exhausted, and examined the memo.

 _Spinner's End_

 _DE sighting_

Harry sat up straight, took a sip of his coffee, spiked with his favorite cheap whisky. It had long gone cold, but the taste of alcohol helped to wake him up. He stood up, took a still smoldering cigarette from his ashtray and took a long drag, exhaling forcefully. He then put it out, turned and apparated to Cokeworth.

It wasn't the first time Harry had been to Spinner's End. It was a surprisingly regular place for "known Death Eaters" to appear. Harry assumed it had something to do with plethora of abandoned and deserted brick buildings in the area. Witches and Wizards get themselves lost in the neighborhood where Severus Snape grew up and it suddenly doesn't matter that his part in the war had been vindicated by Harry for years now. All that mattered was that the neighborhood was creepy, dingy and felt... wrong.

Harry put another cigarette in his mouth and lit it with his wand without thinking. It was second nature at this point. He walked slowly down the street, looking for any abnormalities. He didn't suspect anything was different than the last five times he'd been called to Spinner's End over the last year. It was a creepy neighborhood, and Harry always hoped he'd never have to return.

But something always drew him back. Death Eater sightings, Snape's ghost terrorizing the local muggles, the Dark Mark floating above their neighbor's house. It was all the same thing: nothing. The Death Eaters were always another wizard in a particularly dark cloak, Snape's ghost was nowhere to be found (as he had no ghost) and his childhood home was empty, and the Dark Mark was always some particularly sinister looking rain cloud.

But as much as Harry knew how a Death Eater sighting in Spinner's End would resolve, he felt compelled to check as thoroughly as possible. Spinner's End always felt as if a disease lay upon it, and Harry could never shake the feeling that he was being watched here.

As he continued down the street, he listened intently. He could have sworn he hear shouting in the distance. But it seemed to have stopped. The wind howled around Harry, as he strained his ears. Nothing. Not a sound. That made Harry uneasy. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and fingered his wand. He knew he was a little twitchy with it, and had no desire to accidentally hex a muggle if he got spooked, but he felt more at ease with the wand within easy reach.

There. He heard it again. What sounded like faint shouting. An argument. Harry quickened his step, refraining from an outright run as he didn't want the loud footfalls to alert anyone to his coming. As he approached the noise he noticed it was coming from somewhere familiar. Snape's home.

Harry slowed as he approached his old professor's childhood home. The voices were definitely coming from inside. Harry strained his ears once more to try and discern what the occupants were arguing about.

"We were supposed to split the cut!" The voice was female. Something about it seemed familiar.

"Plans change," the other voice said. It was male, young, but something was off about it. There was something in his voice that gave Harry a bad feeling. Before he could do anything else however, he heard a howl of pain from the woman's voice, before the telltale crack of someone apparating rang through the neighborhood. Harry thought he could hear the man's voice say something before its owner apparated, but it had been drowned out by the cry of pain.

Harry grabbed the doorknob. It wouldn't turn. Without thinking, he quickly brought his foot up and gave a swift kick, breaking the door and revealing a dusty, abandoned home. He heard something that sounded like laughter coming from upstairs. Harry tossed his cigarette outside onto the street before he bounded the steps, two at a time, until he came to the first door at the top landing. He heard a deep voice grunting while the woman weakly attempted to fend him off. Harry pulled out his wand, kicked the door in and took in the sight before him.

A woman lay on the ground bleeding from what looked like multiple, deep gashes, while a large man attempted to manhandle her. He seemed to be having a hard time though as he couldn't get a grip with the blood covering the woman's body. A rage, burned in Harry. He slowly put his wan back into his inside jacket pocket, before taking a deep breath and approaching the large man.

Harry roughly grabbed the assaulter with both hands and dragged him off the woman before throwing him into a wall. The room was rather sparse. Only a small metal cot and an empty wooden desk with a small lamp sat in opposite corners. Harry got a good look at the man. Goyle. Somehow, Harry wasn't surprised by this. In the time it took Goyle to spit out, "Potter!" Harry delivered a hard punch to Goyle's face.

Grabbing Goyle again, Harry threw him hard into the desk before he smashed Goyle's face into it. He knew he would be in trouble with Robards back at the Auror Office, but he didn't much care. Harry almost decided that Goyle had had enough when blood came flying to his face. Goyle had spit at him. Now it was personal.

"You'll wish you hadn't done that, you bastard," Harry growled as he grabbed Goyle once again and threw him out the door and over the railing. He watched as Goyle hit the stairs below and rolled down. Now he'd really be in trouble. But there were other, more pressing issues at the moment. Harry pulled out his wand again and did his best with the few healing spells he knew to patch the woman up. He couldn't get a good look at her face, as it was covered in blood, but he did what he could to stabilize her before he took her to St. Mungo's.

Harry quickly took out a small metal medallion. It was similar in size to a galleon, but silver instead of gold. The aurors had adapted the method of communication that Hermione had devised for Dumbledore's Army back in Harry's 5th Year. They had even improved upon it in some ways. He quickly spelled out his SOS and tapped the medallion with his wand, sending the message to Robards. It was a few moments before he heard a crack downstairs and Robard's deep voice shouting. "What the bloody hell happened here, Potter?!"

"Robards," Harry shouted, ignoring his superior's question. "I need help! Upstairs! Now!"

Harry heard Gawain Robards' heavy footfalls as he ran up to the top floor. Robards burst into the room and looked in shock at the amount of blood soaking into the wood floor. "Jesus," Robards said under his breath. "What happened here, Potter?"

Harry gave his full report from the moment the memo reached his desk less than an hour ago until he notified Robards. "Shit, Potter. You're in deep on this one. You can't keep assaulting perps like this. Stun 'em and bind 'em! That's the procedure! Go down and take Goyle in for booking, I'll get her to St. Mungo's. Do not, and I repeat, do not question Goyle without me there! Got it?"

Harry nodded and went downstairs. Finally seeing the damage he did to Goyle in his rage. The man's left arm bent at a sickening angle and it looked like a kneecap had been popped out of it's proper place, settling halfway down his shin. Harry grimaced. He'd done worse to less before, but still. It was unnerving how much damage he could cause with just his fists when he wanted to.

Harry grabbed and a small picture frame from the nearby mantle, pointed his wand at it, and muttered " _Portus._ " He tossed the portkey on Goyle's chest, which then took them to the Auror Office. He levitated Goyle and placed him in a ministry holding cell just off the main bullpen before he contacted the graveyard shift healer to come in and patch Goyle up.

Harry returned to his desk and finished the rest of his spiked coffee before lighting another cigarette. He then decided to start on the mountain of paperwork that was required for booking a perpetrator. Harry was, thankfully saved by the arrival of his partner, Neville Longbottom. Neville had filled out over the years since the Battle of Hogwarts. The once-pudgy blond boy was now lean and toned and fit for action.

"What happened?"

Harry retold the events of the night to Neville, who just nodded and kept a straight face, devoid of any tell as to how he felt about how Harry had proceeded with his arrest. If Harry were a betting man, he would say Neville was disappointed, but not unsympathetic. By the time Harry finished filling Neville in, Robards had returned with a few other aurors as well.

"Potter," Robards said, shortly. "Follow me."

Harry sighed, put out his cigarette and followed the Head Auror to his office. When Harry entered, he noticed two people, a wizard and a witch, waiting for them in the office. Harry recognizes them both. Tiberius Price and Lucy Smollet from Internal Affairs. The Internal Affairs office was created shortly after Kingsley Shacklebolt had been named Minister. They were there to prevent corruption, but Harry knew they were far more susceptible to it than any other Ministry department. Most of them were wizards and witches who couldn't make the cut for the Aurors, Hit Wizards _and_ Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. They were snakes. And these two, particularly, often had it out for Harry.

Robards sighed in frustration at seeing them there. "What the bloody hell are you two doing here? Get out of my office!"

Lucy Smollet gave a sinister smile for a few moments before responding. "Why," she said as if why they were there was the most obvious thing in the world. "We're here to take Auror Potter into custody of course."

"Like hell you are," Harry started before Robards cut him off.

"This is my department and my office! Out! Before I get Chapman involved!"

"I'm sorry," Price said. "But Auror Potter assaulted a man he was attempting to arrest, without a warrant. We must insist."

Robards glared at the two IA officers. "You're a bloody disgrace to the department. Get the hell out. Potter was defending not only himself, but the victim. If you want him arrested, you'll have to get a warrant from Director Chapman. And you'd better have damn good evidence!"

The two weasels slunk out of Robards' office without another word. Harry glared after them. He knew they would be back. They always were. But that was a worry for another time. Harry knew Director Laura Chapman, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, did not give out warrants to arrest her aurors lightly. Harry was glad for that. He turned back to Robards.

"What did you ask me here for Robards?"

"I won't lie to you, Potter," Robards said. "You're in deep shit with the assault. Luckily the bastard's wand was the one used to cast the curse on the girl, otherwise, we'd have to let him go."

Harry nodded. He knew he was in trouble. He just didn't much care. "Who was the girl, by the way? She seemed familiar somehow."

"That's the other thing. She's Sally-Anne Perks."

"Am I supposed to know a Sally-Anne Perks?"

Robards sighed. "She attended Hogwarts with you. Sorted right before you actually. Into Gryffindor."

Harry was speechless. He certainly didn't remember any Sally-Anne Perks being sorted before him, nor any other girls in his year in Gryffindor aside from Hermione, Parvati, Lavender and Emily. "There must be some mistake, I don't remember any Gryffindor named Sally-Anne Perks."

"Turns out," Robards said slowly. "She vanished. Right after your 3rd Year, she just disappeared. Disappeared off school records too. It's like she never existed. The few professors we've been able to contact couldn't remember her either. But I couldn't get any more out of her before the healers ushered me out. We can question her when she's more stable though."

"Robards," Harry said. "A person doesn't just disappear of the face of the earth with no noticing."

"Apparently Sally-Anne Perks does."

Harry was silent for a few moments as he tried to wrap his head around it all. He eventually just asked the first question he could think of. "Do we have any leads?"

Robards shook his head. "No, not really. It was too early for any real Death Eater activity, and as much money as the Malfoys had, they didn't have the resources for this. It wasn't the Ministry either, though I'm willing to at least follow a line of thought to investigate Umbridge. That foul toad might've been involved somehow, but I doubt it. As corrupt and cowardly as Fudge was, he wasn't evil. No, this has to be someone or something else acting independently. We'll know more when we question Goyle and Perks later. For now, Potter, you look like shit. Go home. Get some rest. I'll finish the booking on Goyle and notify you when he's ready for questioning. Longbottom will make sure you get back to your flat alive."

"Why would Neville need to help me back to my flat?" Harry asked, confused.

"Because you smell like a distillery and I don't trust you to not drink yourself into a stupor tonight, or apparate without splinching yourself. Go home, Potter. That's an order." Roabrds glared at Harry, who normally would have argued back. But he'd done enough damage that night with his treatment of Goyle, so he kept his mouth shut and left Robards' office without another word.

On their way out of the Ministry, Harry tried to get another cigarette from his pack when he saw he was all out. "Damn it!" He exclaimed loudly, scaring quite a few ministry officials coming into the Atrium.

"What?" Neville asked.

"I'm all out of cigarettes," Harry said irritably.

"We'll stop by the store outside your building and get more."

"Yeah." Harry knew he overreacted, and that he should probably apologize to Neville. But he needed a smoke more. As they walked out into the cold, Harry shivered. He hated winter, sometimes. He blamed the bitter winds, but deep down, Harry knew it was just because he hated most things these days. It didn't take long for the two partners to reach Harry's neighborhood. It was dingy and dirty, and a little dodgy, but compared to Spinner's End, it was practically like living in a palace. They stopped at the small convenient store to buy Harry some cigarettes and cheap whisky. Neville didn't condone Harry's bad habits, but he did nothing to stop them either, which suited Harry just fine.

Neville left Harry at the front entrance to his building. He entered to find the overnight doorman fast asleep. Harry scoffed and walked to the elevators. Between the two doors was a plaque with a listing of the residents and their apartment number. Harry's, 7-B, was falling off. Again. It happened on a regular basis at the Shady Grove Luxury Flats. The residents only ever thought of him as the young loner who keeps screaming at night now. They hardly ever saw him, and Harry figured he came off as quite strange. He didn't care though. He quickly fixed the nameplate and entered the elevator.

When he arrived at the 7th floor, there was something wrong. The lights were flickering, and there was an eerie feeling about the hall. It was as if the air had a heavy feeling about it, like someone was sitting on his chest. Harry took out his wand and proceeded past 7-A until he came to the front of his own door. There was something laying outside it. Harry bent down and got a close look at what it was.

Upon closer examination, Harry turned, rushed to the elevator and vomited into the trash bin. He regained his composure slowly, and went back to inspect the message: Sally-Anne Perks' severed head.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing but original characters.

AN: Another chapter in the dark, dingy tale of Harry Potter, the alcoholic auror. This one was a little tough to plan out as it ended up far different than originally planned. Though it's better off for it. Anyways, please read and review. Any hate will be met with snark. Thank you! Read on!

Chapter 2

Harry could still taste the bile in his mouth. Her head. Her severed head. Sitting in front of his door. It was message, that much was clear. Harry was reeling. His hands shook, violently, as he tried to think of what he should do next. Robards. Contact Robards. And Neville too. They'll need to see this. Harry quickly pulled out his talisman and sent out a message for Robards and Neville to get there as soon as possible. Harry then fumbled through the small bag from the store outside his building. Cigarettes? No, something stronger. Whisky!

Harry quickly opened the cheap bottle of whisky and drank. The burn as the liquor went down his throat helped clear his mind. He then grabbed the packet of cigarettes and lit one, taking a long drag. There, that was better. Harry cast a few charms to keep the muggles away while he investigated and waited for his colleagues. He began scanning the hallway, looking for any signs of forced entry or a struggle or DNA or anything that give them a clue as to who did this.

The hallway was clear. It was dirty and dingy and could use a good scrubbing, but nothing was out of place. Harry then bent down over the head, taking another long drag to help steady himself as he examined it closely. Her eyes were open, frozen in fear. Harry reached over and closed them. Small comfort for the dead, but it helped him feel better. He examined the cut. It wasn't clean and straight, but jagged and rough. As if it had been sawed off its body. Harry's stomach turned violently, threatening to expel the whisky he swallowed. Harry closed his eyes, took another drag and steadied himself again.

As the elevator opened behind him, he noticed it. There was something in her mouth. Harry carefully reached in. He vaguely heard Robards' deep voice call to him. He ignored it. There was a small piece of parchment in her mouth. It only had one thing on it. A rune. Harry hadn't seen the shape before, and didn't understand what it meant. But it was obviously the message the killer had wanted Harry to find. Still, there was something oddly familiar about it.

"Potter!" Robards snapped. Harry shook himself from his thoughts as he looked up at the Head Auror and noticed his partner over at the rubbish bin vomiting. Harry looked back down at Sally-Anne's head once more. "What's going on, Potter?"

"No idea, Robards. But we need to get in contact with St. Mungo's. They're missing a patient." Harry stuffed the scrap of parchment into his pocket. He wasn't quite sure why he didn't trust telling Robards about it, but he felt it was something he needed to investigate himself. The message was meant for him. If this case got personal, then Robards would pull him off in a heartbeat. He needed to see Hermione. She would know what the rune meant. Then, maybe, he would take it to Robards.

"Longbottom," Robards said as Neville approached, cautiously. "Go to St. Mungo's, find out what happened. I'll take her head to Brydie for an autopsy. Potter, get some rest." With that, Neville disapparated and Robards soon followed with Sally-Anne's head. Harry was left, in his building's hallway, a cigarette hanging limply from his mouth and a mostly full bottle of whisky in a bag. Harry unlocked his door and entered his flat.

It was dirty, messy, and unorganized. Harry didn't care. He walked to his fridge and looked inside. It was empty, save for a few bottles of Newcastle. Closing the fridge with a groan, Harry looked at his kitchen counter. There was some leftover Chinese takeout, only half-eaten. Harry thought back to how long it had been there, and determined to instead wait for morning to eat. He settled down in the sitting room, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray next to his old, torn armchair, before he lit another one, and pulled out his wand. He gave a few waves and a small flourish to start a new pot of coffee.

He wouldn't be able to sleep. That much was sure. The image of Sally-Anne's head on his doorstep was too fresh. The coffee would help keep him alert when Robards called him in to help question Goyle. He figured it wouldn't be too long a wait. A few hours, tops. Harry opened his whisky bottle again and took another long drink. There was something about cheap whisky that was just comfortingly numbing to him.

He hadn't always been this way. After the war, he had actually been rather optimistic, despite all the loss and mourning there was to go through still. He had reunited with Ginny, and they had begun dating again, only more seriously this time. He had a goal in mind then. A wonderful goal. The wedding had been beautiful. Ginny had looked absolutely stunning in her wedding dress. But that night would reveal a lot about what the couple would have to deal with.

The war had left its mark on Harry. Nightmares came, almost every night. Harry was twitchy with his wand at the slightest provocation. A car backfiring, or Ginny apparating in from practice with the Holyhead Harpies, caused Harry to send off spells without thinking. Loud noises stressed him out. He tried to remain optimistic, but his marriage soon turned sour.

Ginny had tried convincing Harry to see a therapist, and try to work through some of the issues. Harry wouldn't budge. He had no desire to see a therapist. He just wanted to finish rounding up the remaining Death Eaters, and bring their foolish crusade to an end. Then, three years ago, something happened. Harry was rotating out of a guard shift at Azkaban when it happened. Ginny was home alone, during the off-season, when she was attacked.

There was no Dark Mark, nothing indicating who had done it. Harry remembered opening the door to find the cottage he had bought for them destroyed. Marks from curses scorched the walls where there weren't holes blown through. Bloodstains were splattered on various surfaces. The couches were overturned, tables splintered and water was shooting out of the kitchen sink from a burst pipe. Then, Harry saw her.

Ginny lay on the floor in a pool of blood, her head separated from her neck. Harry remembered calling in Robards and wailing hysterically as he watched his colleagues come in and investigate. They took photographs of the blood stains and pointed out one that had a strange shape to it, as if it wasn't splattered. That was it!

Harry sat up in his chair, not noticing he had been falling asleep. He stood up, set the whisky bottle down on his side table, put out his cigarette, turned on the spot and apparated. He appeared outside his old cottage on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow. It looked exactly like he had left it three years earlier. He stood frozen outside the cottage for what felt like hours. He silently lit another cigarette, and slowly approached the shell of his former life.

The door fell off its hinges when Harry entered, lighting the tip of his wand as he did. Everything still looked the same as the last time he saw it. He slowly scanned the room. There was still dried blood everywhere. It made Harry sick to his stomach. He soon saw what he was looking for though. On the wall to his right there was a blood stain, dried onto the wall now, in the shape as the same rune on the parchment. Harry fished the small scrap out of his pocket to compare. They were completely identical. There must be a connection. Harry decided he needed to get this to Hermione as soon as possible.

Luckily he wouldn't have to wait long as the sun began to rise. Harry looked at his watch. It was half past 5 o'clock. Hermione would be in her office at 8 o'clock sharp. The woman was like clock-work. Harry resolved to be there when she arrived. He needed answers. As Harry turned to leave, before he vomited at the returning memories, he noticed something. Something that wasn't there before. Something that wasn't even there when he arrived. A message on the opposite wall. _Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Who watches the watchmen?_ Someone was targeting him.

Harry turned on the spot and apparated straight back to his apartment. He stumbled upon appearing and retched into his toilet after a mad dash to the wash room. He attempted to summon his whisky to wash the taste of bile out of his mouth. It didn't come. Harry got up, and stumbled out into the sitting room to find Neville sitting in his armchair, holding the cheap whisky in place. "You're supposed to be at St. Mungo's."

"And you're supposed to be resting," Neville countered.

Harry nodded. "Couldn't sleep."

"Where were you?" Neville asked. "I got here almost ten minutes ago and you were gone. Where did you go?"

Harry thought for a moment. Should he tell Neville? Neville certainly hadn't let him down at all since they've been partners, but something held Harry back. So, he decided to change the subject. "What happened at St. Mungo's?"

Neville must have known he wouldn't get an answer out of Harry. "Not sure. Sally-Anne was in her room when the Healer left, and gone when they returned. There was no sign of forced entry or a struggle. She just vanished. Again."

Harry nodded. This case was becoming more and more difficult and frightening by the second. "Robards sent me to get you. Goyle's good for questioning. He wants you there with him."

Harry nodded again. Neville handed him the whisky bottle and Harry took a swig. He swished it around in his mouth, rinsing the taste of vomit out of his mouth. He returned to his wash room to spit it out into his sink. He took another swig, and swallowed. That was better. He returned to the sitting room and apparated back to the Ministry entrance with Neville.

As they arrived in the Auror office, it was already filled with aurors and ministry officials. "What the bloody hell is going on, Neville?" Harry asked quietly. This was unusual for an interrogation.

"People don't just vanish without a trace or anyone remembering them, Harry," Neville answered. "They want to hear what the interrogation yields."

Harry and Neville approached Robards' office, and entered. Robards was sitting at his desk, rubbing his temples and smoking a cigarette. He looked up at Harry and Neville as they closed the door behind them and motioned them over to his desk. "Well, you two," he began. "He's about ready for interrogation. I just want to brief you that Internal Affairs is listening in on it. Potter's assault on Goyle is warranting Chapman's attention. She doesn't want to suspend you yet, Potter, but she's having Smollet and Price keep an eye on you."

"Shit," Harry said. "That's just what we need, those two assholes policing us."

"Cut the shit, Potter," Robards said. "They're only here because you beat the shit out of Goyle instead of just stunning him. I don't like it either, but it's Chapman's orders."

Harry sighed and nodded. He knew Robards was right. If hadn't lost it with Goyle during the arrest, they wouldn't be getting scrutinized right now. "Sorry, Robards," Harry offered. "What's our approach then? Veritiserum?"

"Negative," Robards said. "Didn't get the authorization. You'll be doing it the old fashioned way. A little good auror, bad auror. But, Potter," he added. "Don't be too bad. I'd hate to see you suspended."

Harry nodded before he and Neville left Robards' office, with him following behind. They made their way into a back hallway that led to the interrogation rooms. It was a standard room, identical to the muggle ones. A bland, slightly dirty, grey wall with a one-way mirror on one side. There was a small, metal table with three uncomfortable metal chairs. Goyle sat in one of the chairs, chained to the table. His face was still puffy and bloody from Harry's brief beating. "Remember," Robards said before Harry and Neville entered the room. "You've got Smollet and Price on the other side, not just me. I won't be able to do much to protect you if you can't control yourself. Got it?"

Harry nodded once more. This was going to be difficult. He was never good at keeping his cool during interrogations. As he reached out his hand to turn the knob and open the door, Robards cut in once more. "And for Christ's sake, would it kill you to straighten your fucking tie, Potter? You're a goddamn professional. Look like it!" Harry quickly, but begrudgingly obliged, before entering the small interrogation room.

While Harry had always had trouble with keeping his cool during an interrogation, Neville had proven quite the stoic. The two partners had developed a routine to follow in these situations where Harry would wait for Neville to start. How long that took depended on how bad Neville believed he could make the suspect sweat before starting in. Harry would most stay quiet, unless the wheels needed greasing. Usually, when Harry jumped in with the scare tactics, the suspect would break and tell them anything and everything they needed to know. It was just a waiting game. But Harry wasn't always the most patient auror.

Neville sat down opposite Goyle, a glass and pitcher of water in front of him. Harry took up position leaning against the wall, next to the mirror, arms crossed. Neville just sat there, waiting. For a full ten minutes, Neville sat there, staring at Goyle. The only time he moved was to pour himself some water, and take a small drink. "What happened, Goyle?" Neville started, softly.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about, blood traitor."

"What were you doing on Spinner's End last night? And why was Sally-Anne Perks with you? We need to know, Goyle, and we know you're wrapped up in this shit, we just want to know how deep. If you tell us what you know, we'll work on a reduced sentence. How does that sound?" Goyle spit at Neville. This is where Harry jumped in.

Harry moved from his position at the wall, and sat down in the last vacant chair opposite Goyle. He fixed the meanest look on his face that he could muster. He smirked when he saw Goyle's eyes flicker briefly with fear. "It's not a difficult question Goyle," he said slowly and dangerously. "Tell us what you know, and you won't spend the rest of your miserable, pathetic excuse for a life in Azkaban."

Goyle looked up at Harry, his eyes swollen and blackened. For a few, tense moments, Harry almost thought that Goyle would speak. But then, just when Harry dared to hope for some answers, Goyle laughed. It was a wild, wicked, demented laugh. Something about it chilled Harry to the bone. "You think this is about the bitch, Potter," Goyle finally said, still laughing. "You have no idea what is coming. You can't stand against it."

"Against what, Goyle? Who can't I stand against?"

Goyle let loose another wild cackle. "Not a who. He's more than a person. He's a force of nature. And you don't give up his name, or everyone you've ever cared about will die. You should have killed me, coward."

Then, suddenly, Goyle stopped laughing and slammed his head against the metal table with a loud crack. Harry knew right away that Goyle had already split his skull. Another hit like that may kill him. He'd seen people get desperate and hit their heads on the table, or the walls, but never with such ferocity. Before Harry or Neville could react, Goyle's head came down hard against the table again, and he lay still, blood pouring from his head and pooling around it. He was dead. Their only suspect had just killed himself.

Harry and Neville left the interrogation room in a daze. Harry vaguely noticed a team of Healers going in to clean up the mess and inspect the body. He saw Robards in the hall already, flanked by Price and Smollet. Harry didn't notice the smirks plastered on their faces as Robards led the aurors back to his office, leaving the Internal Affairs officers behind. After they entered the Head Auror's office, they were silent, still dazed for a few minutes. Harry and Robards both lit cigarettes.

Walking over to a small cabinet in the corner of the office, Robards summoned three whisky glasses and pulled out a half empty decanter of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. He poured two fingers worth into each of the glasses and Harry and Neville each reached for one silently, as Robards took the third. Together, they knocked back the glasses in one gulp. Robards refilled them, and they repeated, trying to get what had just happened in the interrogation room through their heads.

"Shit," Robards said after a third glass.

"What the bloody hell just happened?" Neville asked quietly, to no one in particular

"He fucking killed himself," Harry said, disbelieving. "I always knew the bastard was thick, but I never expected him to be _that_ stupid."

Robards stayed silent for a few moments before speaking. "Go home, you two. Get some rest. I'll send another team to Spinner's End, see if we can't find another lead."

Harry and Neville nodded, a little dumbly and quietly left Robards' office. When they made it to the atrium, Neville gave Harry a nod goodbye as he stepped into the floo and went home. Harry immediately glanced at his watch. It was almost 8 o'clock. Turning around, he walked back to the lifts and went back to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Instead of turning to the bullpen, though, Harry slipped on by and went straight for Hermione's office.

Though her office was rather close to the bullpen, Harry had not seen Hermione for a while. He knew she was a rising star in the department, working directly under Laura Chapman. Some were saying she was being groomed to take over Chapman's position when the Director retired. He walked right by the receptionist outside her office, taking no heed of the poor girl's attempts to stop him. He used his wand to unlock the door and walk in, just in time to see Hermione arrive through her private floo connection. When she saw him, Hermione shrieked and dropped her briefcase, the contents spilling out onto the floor.

"Harry," she said with exasperation. "What are you doing here? You can't just barge into someone's office when they're not even in yet." The door behind Harry opened up again. and the receptionist, trying to catch her breath, glared at Harry.

"You, sir," she said between gasps. "Are not allowed in without an appointment. Ms. Ganger is a very busy woman -"

"Hermione," Harry said, cutting off the receptionist and earning another glare for it. "It's important. I need to talk to you, in private." Hermione stared at Harry, trying to gauge the seriousness of his statement. He gave her a look, hoping she'd get the message that it was, indeed, important.

"It's okay, Lucy," Hermione said without looking at the girl. "I have a few minutes for an old friend. Why don't you go get some tea from the commissary." It wasn't a question. Lucy turned and left, grumbling on her way to the lift. Harry closed the office door again and cast a few silencing and privacy charms, so they could talk uninterrupted.

"Is there any reason I just sent my receptionist away, and you're casting privacy spells on my office after scaring me half to death?" Hermione asked, with just a little bit of ice in her tone. Harry ignored her while he finished up, making sure he was satisfied that they won't be over heard.

"I'm sure you know," he finally said. "That I arrested Gregory Goyle last night."

"Of course," Hermione affirmed. "It was all over the _Prophet_ this morning. What's he got to do with anything?"

"Do you remember a Sally-Anne Perks?" Harry asked, ignoring her question.

Hermione shot Harry a look of annoyance before answering. "No," she said. "Never head of her."

"Apparently she was sorted into Gryffindor right before I was. She vanished after 3rd Year. No once can remember her, no one has any records of her, other than that she was sorted into Gryffindor and disappeared after 3rd Year."

"Okay," Hermione said slowly. "I'm not sure where you're going with this, Harry."

"Her severed head turned up on my doorstep last night."

Hermione let out a small gasp and Harry noticed she had to physically hold back the urge to get sick. "That's not what I'm here about though. I found this, tucked in her mouth." Harry pulled out the scrap of parchment and showed it to Hermione. She took it, looking like she wanted a distraction from the mental image of a severed head.

"It's an ancient Anglo-Saxon rune," she said, almost immediately. "It means 'earth.' It also represents endings, life and death."

"That same rune was written in blood at the cottage in Godric's Hollow," Harry said. Hermione eyed him cautiously, unsure of whether or not to believe him. "In Ginny's blood."

"What?"

"When I saw that rune, something about it seemed familiar. I remembered seeing a crime scene photo from the night Ginny died of a blood spatter that was in that shape."

"Oh my God, Harry," Hermione said, condoling. "When?"

"I went this morning, before coming in to question Goyle. But another strange thing happened while I was there." Harry took a deep breath and tried to remember exactly what he saw before describing the latin phrasing that appeared on the wall while he investigated the blood rune.

"Who watches the watchmen?" Hermione stated. "That's what it means. Harry, do you think someone's targeting you?"

"I know someone is," Harry said. Especially after Goyle's interrogation." Harry then related what had happened in the interrogation room just minutes earlier. Hermione looked like she was going to be sick when Harry told her of his suicide.

"Harry," Hermione said slowly. "Does Robards know of the rune?"

Harry shook his head. "Why haven't you told him?" she asked.

"I don't know," Harry said, truthfully enough. "I wanted to know what it means before I gave it over. I don't just mean what they rune means, but what significance it has. And the connection it has with Ginny's death. If there's some bastard out there who's coming for me, I'm bringing the department down too."

"Harry, you have to tell Robards. You're withholding evidence." She did her best to sound stern, but Harry could tell the recent events had shook her up. She couldn't intimidate anyone if she tried right now. Harry nodded though, mostly to appease her. He had no intention of handing the parchment over to Robards. At least not yet. He wanted to dig a little more, unencumbered by the bureaucratic red tape. He thanked Hermione and cancelled the spells before opening the door. Before he left though, he heard Hermione's voice call to him.

"Harry," she said. "Are you doing okay? Would you like to come to dinner tonight? Ron and I miss you, and I know we'd love to have you over."

Harry stopped and didn't answer for a bit. He should have known the pity would come back. It always did when he spoke with Hermione or Ron or George or Bill or Fluer or Percy or any of the Weasleys. Harry took a deep breath before answering. "I'd love to Hermione, but I need to focus on this case. I don't want to drag this into dinner with you and Ron. Rain check?"

Hermione nodded, and Harry could tell she was trying not to cry. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, but he just couldn't take the pity. Before she say anything else, Harry turned and left, bidding her a good day. Harry apparated home and collapsed into his chair once again. He decided he'd better try to get some sleep, knowing another lead would present itself sooner rather than later. With that thought, he opened the whisky bottle still in it's place next to the armchair and took a long deep drink, before exhaustion took him.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing but original characters.

AN: And now I'm back with another bright, happy installment of The Long Night. I know it's been awhile but I had to trim down the chapter a bit (I don't like it when their too wordy). I worked really hard to introduce this next character in a natural manner that benefits the story and the development I have mapped out for her. Anyways, please read and review! Thanks to those who do, and thanks to those who do not, for at least viewing and giving it a chance, even if you never come back for more.

Chapter 3

"Wake up!" Harry was yanked out of his chair by a pair of hands throwing him to the ground. Snapping up, Harry pulled his wand and shot off a _stupify!_ before he realized he wasn't in danger. Standing in front of him, wand out, was Ron Weasley. He hadn't seen Ron in a few months. He had purposefully tried to avoid any Weasley he could ever since Ginny died, usually regulating his appearances to holidays and special occasions like birthdays.

"What the bloody hell was that for?"

"You're drunk and I have to speak with you." Ron's voice was low and shaking with anger. Harry stood up slowly, and shakily. He stumbled into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, still hot from when he had started the pot the previous night. He glanced at his watch. It was almost noon.

"What is it, Ron?"

"Why didn't you tell me he was back?"

"Why didn't I tell you who was back?" In truth, Harry knew exactly what Ron was talking about. He knew Ron would have wanted to be told if Ginny's killer was back. He did deserve to know too, but Harry wasn't entirely sure what their was to tell. His years as an auror had taught him enough to know that just because the evidence points to one answer, doesn't mean that answer is the correct one. There were other explanations: a copycat, a conspiracy, coincidence (though Harry did not believe in coincidence).

The main reason Harry hadn't told Ron, though, was because he just wasn't sure. He went to Hermione out of necessity; he didn't want to drag Ron into what could be a wild goose chase. He'd been through enough. All the Weasleys had. And whoever this killer was, they were targeting Harry specifically. There was no need to raise alarms, when there were not yet alarms to raise.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about!"

Harry looked at his distant friend. "Because I'm not sure, Ron. The evidence isn't conclusive. I didn't want to worry you."

"Bullshit," Ron said.

Harry stared down his friend as he sipped his coffee. After a few moments, Harry sighed. "I'm still not sure if they are fully connecting," he said slowly, carefully. "I don't want to go down that line unless I absolutely have to."

Ron's features softened. "I know it's hard to think about, Harry," he said. "But you've got to at least tell me. And you've got to move on."

"Oh come off it, Ron, I'm fine." This is why Harry didn't like to talk to the Weasleys. They had all moved on from the loss. Of course, they still missed and mourned the lone Weasley girl, but thay had found peace eventually. Peace hadn't found Harry since the incident in Knockturn Alley, just a few weeks after Harry joined the aurors.

Antonin Dolohov had never given up the Death Eater's cause. Just a few days after the Battle of Hogwarts, he struck at Diagon Alley, killing three people before he disappeared. He kept attacking various spots and villages, including Hogsmeade, Ottery St. Catchpole, and even Godric's Hollow once, as well a number of muggle communities. An inside source tipped the aurors off to a dingy bar in Knockturn Alley that he apparated to after every attack. The aurors set up what was supposed to be a discreet ambush, only for Dolohov to have brought friends, and ambushed the aurors.

It was more of a massacre than anything. Six aurors of their twelve-auror team were killed, another lost a leg. Harry and Neville were lucky to make it out relatively unharmed. That day left its mark on everyone involved. Ron quit the force and joined George at the joke shop, Neville threw himself into training, honing his skills and senses, Marci Andrews was catatonic for weeks, and Harry threw himself into the bottle.

"You're not fine, Harry. You haven't been fine since Knockturn Alley, and you know it. I just don't want to see my best mate lose himself in all this shit."

"I won't, Ron. I'm fine." Ron turned to leave. There were still many things left to be said, they both knew that. But Harry's medallion, the A-Com, they called it, grew hot. He fished it out of his pocket and saw a message from Robards.

 _Nothing at Spinner's End_

 _Come in for briefing ASAP_

 _-R_

"It's Robards, wants me in for a briefing," Harry said, hoping to avoid any more of this conversation, if he could. Ron nodded and opened the door. "And Ron," Harry said before the door closed. "I'll keep you and Hermione updated as often as I can." Harry knew that was mostly a lie. They were probably better off in ignorance. If someone was targeting him, then he'd want the Weasleys as far away from it as possible. But appeasing them for now would buy him time at least.

Ron nodded and left. Harry finished his coffee and apparated to the Ministry entrance. He soon arrived at Robards' office, sitting down as soon as he closed the door behind him. Neville was already there and waiting. Harry lit another cigarette while he waited for Robards to speak.

"We have no lead. Our witness and victim is dead. Our perp is dead. And we have no lead." Robards paused. He quietly poured himself a glass of whisky and drank it. Suddenly, Robards screamed and threw the glass against the wall shattering it into hundreds of tiny pieces. Neville stood up.

"St. Mungo's, sir," he said, tentatively.

"What was that, Longbottom?"

"We need to check St. Mungo's. See what really happened there."

Robards looked at Neville with a quiet intensity. His glare burning holes into Neville's head. "I thought you already checked St. Mungo's, Longbottom," he said slowly.

Neville nodded. "I did," he said. "But I think we need to go back. Check every floor, interview every Healer, nurse and orderly that was on staff when Sally-Anne arrived and when she disappeared. And we need to check out the ward she was in, not just her room, but the adjoining ones, the one above, and the one below as well. There has to be something there that I missed."

Robards sighed deeply. "Okay. Take Potter with you. Do a full sweep. Start sending in Healers to me, specifically for interviewing. I'll assemble a team to help me." Neville and Harry both nodded, stood up, and left, making straight for St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. It did not take them long to reach the old department store that housed the magical hospital. They were soon face to face with the ugly mannequin and showed it their auror badges.

They waited. And waited. And right when Harry was about to lose his patience, the mannequin beckoned them in. The lobby seemed to be in a state of panic. It had always been loud, but there seemed to be more chaos this time, whereas it usually still had a feeling of order. They were greeted by a very stern-looking witch in the lime green robes of the hospital. She had a very small pair of round glassed perched above her long, pointed nose, and her gray hair was pulled into a very severe bun.

"Auror Potter, Auror Longbottom," she said curtly. "I do hope you haven't returned to send into an ever further state of panic and mayhem?" She motioned for them to follow her as they started their way across the lobby.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, thoroughly confused as to who this woman was and why she was demanding they follow her. "But who the bloody hell are you?"

"I am Healer Beatrice Burke, and I am the head of this Hospital. And I'm currently busy cleaning up the Auror Department's mess."

"And what mess would that be, Healer Burke?" Harry asked, not at all sincere in his question. "The one where one of your patients disappeared under your watch, and was murdered?"

"No," she said brusquely. "The one where your partner caused a bloody panic among my staff that has now spilled over into my patients! Everyone now believes that they're going to be disappearing next, or murdered. Do you have any idea what this could do to my hospital's reputation?"

"No," Harry replied quickly. "And honestly, I don't care. We need to inspect the hospital. All the rooms on Sally-Anne Perks' floor, the ones above, and the ones below. We also need all the Healers, nurses and orderlies on staff while she was here to report to Head Auror Gawain Robards for questioning."

Healer Burke was seething. She didn't like the way Harry was speaking to her, he could tell. The last person to give him such a withering look was Snape, back at Hogwarts. Harry sneered right back at her. "We're not asking, Healer Burke."

"Fine!" she said. "But be quick about it. You have one hour."

"We better get to work then," Neville said, speaking for the first time since they arrived. Healer Burke then shooed them out.

"She's a pleasant one," Harry griped as they made their way to the Spell Damage Ward. Neville led them to the corridor where Sally-Anne's room had been. The whole corridor was roped off with caution tape, and the lanterns that were normally lighting the the hall were burning low or out completely. Harry scoffed as he took out a cigarette and lit it. He often thought he should try to quit smoking, or at least cut back on it, but there was too much going on right now to really give it a try.

"Check out the rest of the floor, Neville. I'll have a look down Sally-Anne's corridor first. Stay within earshot though, this place is putting me on edge." Neville nodded and started to inspect the nearby rooms without saying a word. Harry knew it was hard for Neville to be on this floor, especially since his parents' passing a few years ago, not long after the war ended.

A Healer yelled at Harry to put his cigarette out. "This is a hospital, not some bloody pub! We've got enough sick here without you polluting the air with that foul stuff!" Harry made a big show of putting it out, stomping it roughly into the floor before vanishing the ashes. He then crossed the tape and into the crime scene.

The first six rooms were empty. Nothing useful to be found in there. Just a few beds, the curtains pulled back, and a small window. No signs of entry or altercations to the room, muggle or magical. Harry was beginning to get frustrated. He could have sworn he'd find something here. Neville had already finished the rest of the floor and went to investigate the floors above and below. SLAM!

A door closing at the end of the corridor snapped Harry to attention. He ran down to the end to find the last door closed and locked. The room Sally-Anne had been in. " _Alohamora!"_ Nothing. Putting his wand in a holster under his left shoulder, Harry saw that the door swung away from him. Maybe kicking it down would work? Harry put his right foot back, steadying himself. He then drove his heel into the door, next to the lock. He heard the wood crunch beneath him. One more kick should do it. He could hear noises inside the room. A woman's voice?

The door gave way and fell in upon Harry's second kick. Inside the room was a woman, dressed in Healer's robes. But something was off. She was pointing her wand at Harry, a desperate look in her eyes. " _Sectumsempra!_ " Harry jumped out of the way of the curse, knocking over one of the beds in the process and drawing his own wand. Harry chanced a peek around the corner of the bed. A bright red curse shot towards him, causing him to pull back to avoid being struck.

Harry could hear the woman's footfalls as he retreated. She was only attacking out of self-defense. She wasn't here to ambush him, otherwise she would have pressed the attack when she had the chance. Harry slowly crept around the corner, keeping crouched. He could see the top of the woman's head at the other end of the room. She was whispering to something furiously. Harry silently stunned her and and heard the sound of glass shattering.

It was a small mirror, just like the one Sirius had given him years ago. Harry picked up one of the larger shards and looked into it deeply, hoping to catch a glimpse at whoever was on the other end. Nothing. Harry was just about to let the shard fall when a flash of color caught his eye. Looking back at him from the mirror was an milky grey eye. Harry stared at it for a long time, their gazes met unblinking. Then, the grey eye left and was replaced by something else. A rune. The same rune found in Sally-Anne's mouth. The same rune found at the house of Harry's murdered wife.

The woman was Daphne Greengrass. Harry recognized her when he got a look at her face. The blonde witch was pretty still, as she had been while at school. The years had been very kind to her indeed. But she was also found impersonating a Healer and sneaking around the scene of a crime. Neville arrived soon enough, the other floors being clear of any tampering or clues, to find Harry binding Daphne and getting her ready to transport to the Ministry. Hopefully her interrogation would go smoother than Goyle's.

Other than Daphne, though, Sally-Anne's room was just as lacking in clues as the others. This case was already working on Harry's last nerve. At least they had a suspect in hand though, which is more than they could say twelve hours ago. Harry and Neville took a portkey to the Auror office, not wanting to cause a panic by dragging an unconscious woman dressed as a Healer through the hospital and down the streets of London. Robards was there still, looking tired and pissed.

"Potter! Longbottom! Report in my office!"

Harry closed the door after having gotten himself a mug of coffee from the department coffee maker. He discretely spiked it on his way to Robards' office with a small flask of whisky from his inside jacket pocket. Feeling the familiar and welcomed buzz come over him and the warmth of the liquid glide down his throat, Harry told Robards what happened at St. Mungo's, from the Head Healer admonishing them to Daphne attacking him in Sally-Anne's room. Daphne was already in a Ministry holding cell while clerk processed her booking and arrest. Robards looked troubled.

"She had a two-way mirror, you say?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. It shattered when I stunned her though. She was trying to contact someone on the other side."

"Did she?"

"I don't think so, Robards. I looked into it after I stunned her. Wanted to see who she was trying to contact."

"And...?" Robards encouraged Harry to continue.

"Nothing," Harry lied. "Just a reflection."

Robards sighed and nodded in resignation. At that moment, there was a light tap on the office door. Neville stood and opened it up, revealing an interdepartmental memo that landed lightly on the large desk, next to a steaming cup of coffee that Robards had sitting there.

The Head Auror opened up the memo and quickly read the message. "Chapman's authorized the use of veritaserum on Greengrass. She wants us to interrogate right away. Carter!" A young auror, Francis Carter, still in training, quickly entered the office. He was a nervous, jumpy fellow. Harry didn't trust him any, but Neville said he was all right. "Carter, is Internal Affairs here?"

"N-n-no, s-sir," Carter said, stammering. "S-should I go get them?"

"No!" Robards said, perhaps a little too forcefully. "Just curious. I need you to go to the holding cells and tell the guards to bring Greengrass to Interrogation Room 3. Got it?"

Carter nodded nervously and took off towards the holding cells. Robards then turned to Harry and Neville. "With any luck, we'll be able to question her before IA gets a whiff of it. A runner should be here shortly with the potion and we'll get started right away." Harry and Neville both nodded and made their way to Interrogation Room 3 to await Daphne.

As Robards had said, a runner soon arrived with a small vial of the clear, odorless potion. Robards added a few drops to Daphne's glass of water and left the room to watch behind the one-way mirror. Soon, a knock on the Interrogation Room door announced the presence of the guards who, somewhat roughly, dragged Daphe into the room and cuffed her to the table.

She looked up at Harry and Neville. Neville pointed at the glass of water. "Have a drink, Greengrass."

"No need, Longbottom. I'm more than willing to cooperate. The veritaserum won't be necessary." Neville and Harry looked at each other. Had one of the guards told her about the veritaserum? But there was not way they could know about it. Carter hadn't even been told.

"You'll forgive us for covering our bases, Greengrass. We really must insist." Daphne sighed in response and made a show of drinking the whole glass in one gulp.

"Now, boys," she said. "Where were we?"

"What were you doing at St. Mungo's?" Harry asked.

"Repaying a debt owed."

"What do you mean?"

Daphne looked Harry in the eye and held his gaze for a few moments before answering. "My family was on the wrong side during the war," she said. "We didn't fully support the Dark Lord, but my father spent a lot gold for the Pureblood cause. When the war ended, we were financially ruined. But my mother had grown accustomed to certain standard of living. So, she took me and my sister and left my father to rot in Azkaban."

Harry knew all of this to be true. He was one of the aurors, along with Neville and Ron, who had brought her father in. That was only a few months after the war had ended, 7 years ago. He had even seen Daphne that day, if he remembered correctly, watching from the staircase of the Greengrass family home as Harry stunned Caius Greengrass in a brief duel and cuffed him before bringing him in to the Ministry. Part of Harry had felt bad for the older Greengrass daughter. It certainly hadn't been her fault that her father was one of Voldemort's major financial backers. But Daphne's voice brought Harry back to her story.

"After a few years of living in France off some wealthy lech, I couldn't take it anymore. Astoria had already been married off to the Malfoy brat, and I had no desire to follow in their footsteps. I returned to make my own way. I didn't know how hard it would be though until I fell on hard times. I had no skills, see. I coasted through school on good looks and good manners and doing just enough to pass, thinking I could live my life as my parents had, without having to work for it. I was desperate, see. That's when _he_ found me."

"Who?" Harry asked, desperate for a lead.

"I never knew his name. Or he never had one. He calls himself Bloody Jack. Pretentious name, I know, but like I said. I was desperate."

"What did Bloody Jack do?" Neville questioned.

"He gave me work," Daphne said, as if that was all there was to it.

"What kind of work?"

"Oh, different things, odd jobs."

"Like what?" Neville asked, tense. "We won't ask nicely again."

Daphne looked Harry in the eye again, though she was responding to Neville. "Robberies of muggle banks, the occasional kidnapping, blackmail... murder."

"You murdered people?" Harry asked, his hand twitching towards his wand.

"Of course not. I merely delivered the orders to others. I never participated in any of the crimes. Just helped plan and deliver orders. You see, Bloody Jack gave me quite a bit of money to do these jobs. I was able to live comfortably. That is, until Goyle came round."

"What did Goyle do?"

"He assaulted me. One year ago. I hadn't done any jobs for Bloody Jack for two years at that point. And I know Goyle had fallen in with him. So, when the brute caught me unaware I got in contact with Jack. He came to save me. Said he'd take care of Goyle for a favor. He called that favor in this morning."

"What was the favor?" Harry could almost taste the answers. This was good! A solid lead!

"I was to get caught snooping around some room at St. Mungo's and deliver a message to Harry Potter. He's coming for. Bloody Jack is coming for you Harry Potter. And no one is safe."

At that moment there was a knock on the one-way mirror. Harry stood up and walked into the viewing room behind it. Robards was holding another memo, his hand shaking. "Potter, I don't know how to say this." The Head Auror was speaking slowly, his voice shaking slightly. "The Weasley's joke shop in Diagon Alley. It's been attacked."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing but original characters.

AN: Hello again! I know, it's been awhile, but it has been one hell of a time on the homefront since I last updated. Had a few interviews for promotions and transfers, a rather intense confrontation with my own bosses and my car breaking down on the interstate. (Yay!) Anyways, I had something else planned for chapter 4, but it is still in need of some good editing, so instead, I present you with a brief little interlude. Again, please read and review, (each of either is greatly appreciated) and enjoy!

Chapter 4

 _3 Years Ago..._

The room was packed, but that was to be expected. A large, round table took up almost the entire room. Those who weren't seated were standing around the edge of room. All the chairs were filled. Argument filled the atmosphere. Cygnus Selwyn sat between Theodore Nott and Gregory Goyle. They were representing the remnants of the Death Eaters. They had spent the last 4 years, since the fall of the Dark Lord, on the run. Potter had been leading the Aurors, under the command of Gawain Robards, to round up all remaining Death Eaters, and other various criminals.

In this room alone were various crime families and gangs that ran rampant across Wizarding Britain and Ireland. The Bocci Patriarch, Adriano Bocci, sat between his son, Gino, and nephew, Silvano. His daughter, Bianca and her husband, Luca stood behind him. The MacLancey Brothers, Jannon and Keiran sat nearby. They were infamous for robbing muggle banks using magic. The Markoff gang, who had come from Russia a few generations ago, were also present, as well as many other, smaller criminals, outlaws and dark witches and wizards.

They had come together for a purpose: form a plan to rid themselves of Potter. Thing is, after Dolohov's failed assassination attempt, just a few days after the Dark Lord's fall, the remaining Death Eaters were almost scared of Potter. It seemed as if he could not be killed. Many others were terrified of him. Truth be told, Cygnus himself was scared of Potter. But there must be a way to deal with him. And so he was here, with Nott and Goyle, to discuss just that with these other lowlifes and scum.

"What do we do about Potter?" Bocci asked, slicking back his greasy mane.

"What _can_ we do? The Dark Lord couldn't kill him, what makes you think we can?" That was Jannon.

"He's just a boy," Anton Markoff said. "Boys die easily."

"Not this boy," Nott said. "The Dark Lord tried killing him when he was a baby, he didn't die then. Tried to kill Potter again, when Potter was 14, he didn't die then. Tried again at the Battle of Hogwarts, 4 years ago. Hit him with the Killing Curse. Potter walked it off in the end. What do you think you can do to kill him?"

"How about hang him? Slit his throat? There are more ways to kill than just a silly curse." Markoff sneered at Nott. The fool. Cygnus would have killed him then and there if it were not for the nature of the meeting.

"I'm just saying," Nott said, thinly veiled rage boiling just under the surface. "Potter's harder to kill than you think, old man. We have to be careful."

There was a knock on the door. Everyone turned to look, not expecting anyone else. Everyone was fingering their wands, on edge. Cygnus had a bad feeling about this. With a loud bang, the door was kicked in, and in walked a man. He was wearing a blood red coat, trimmed in gold. His shirt was, at one point, white, but looked stained and dirt now. A loose black tie was around his neck and hidden under a red vest that matched the jacket. The man's filthy hair was dark, with obviously colored tips of red. He wore a mask. A white mask with red, gold and black patterns on it. They were familiar, yet ancient-looking designs. There were no features on the mask, other than the holes for the Man in Red's eyes.

"I hear that you fine people have a problem that needs taking care of." The man's voice was, unsettling, shaky, as if barely holding emotions in-check.

Keiran MacLancey stood up, pointing his wand at the Man in Red. "Who the hell are you?"

"Oh, I'm just a man offering my services." The Man gave a small, deranged laugh.

"What services would that be?" Keiran was lowering his wand, now, wanting to hear the Man in Red's offer.

"Why to rid you of Potter, of course!"

Laughter. Everyone in the room was laughing at the Man in Red's audacity. Markoff nodded at one of his burly guards to take care of the Man in Red. As the guard closed in, the Man moved, quick as a flash. The next thing Cygnus knew, blood was shooting out of the guard's throat and the Man in Red was holding a knife, stained with the guard's blood. The laughing stopped as everyone listened to the guard's gurgling and sputtering. The man's death seemed to drag on forever, though Cygnus knew it couldn't have been more than a few seconds.

"Sorry about that Markoff, but now that I have your attention, I would appreciate you hearing me out." His voice was even more shaky now. As if Markoff's attempt to remove or kill the Man had truly angered him. "If Potter is allowed to run around unchecked," the Man continued, sounding more and more relatively calm as he continued speaking. "Then pretty soon you'll all be in Azkaban, or worse."

"What's your plan?" Bocci asked.

The Man in Red laughed again, this time loudly, madly. His cackling went on for ages, it seemed, before he spoke again. "Now, now, I can't just go and give away my plan now. I need you, to trust me, and before long, Potter will be done. You can go about your meaningless lives, robbing banks, extorting the poor, whatever it is you do. But you have to trust me."

"If you know how you're going to bring Potter down," Nott said. "Then why haven't you done it yet?"

"I don't work for free," the Man in Red replied. Silence. It seemed as if no one wanted to ask his price. They expected it would be high, if he was promising to kill the Boy-Who-Lived. "How about," he said, after a few moments of silence. "You think on it. Get back to me." He then pulled out a card. Cygnus leaned forward to get a better look at it. It was a Jack of Diamonds card, but the character on it, looked exactly like the Man in Red, and there were drops of what looked like blood splattered on it. "Here's my card, when you're ready to know my price."

The Man in Red then backed out of the room and left. Cygnus wasn't sure what to make of this man. He was obviously a lunatic. But none of them had succeeded in killing Potter either, and not for lack of trying. Potter seemed like he could not be killed. The room erupted into argument again. The MacLancey's wanted to hire the Man in Red, Bocci wanted to know the price first, and Markoff wanted him dead, posting a bounty of 2,000 Galleons for his head.

The various groups all left, having accomplished nothing. Cygnus went home with Dasha Markoff. He'd been sleeping with her for a while, with Anton Markoff's blessing as Dasha was his younger daughter and Cygnus did some dirty work for Markoff. Nothing gives you the blessing of a notorious crime boss faster than killing someone for them. But now, it was late, he was tired, and he was wanting to go to bed.

It was in the early hours of the morning, when Cygnus heard the sounds of someone entering Markoff's mansion. He could hear the sounds of spells being exchanged downstairs, He quickly grabbed his wand and made his way to the staircase. He never even saw the stunner coming.

When Cygnus awoke, he was bound in a room with five other men. Before him was the Man in Red from earlier in the evening. He was flanked by two others, also wearing red cloaks and masks, though their masks were ombre, fading from red to black, without any inscriptions or designs upon them.

"Good!" the Man in Red exclaimed. "Now that we're all awake, we can begin." There was a certain tone of glee in the Man's voice. He looked at each bound captive in turn before speaking again.

"Your boss, Markoff, is dead. Thought I would get that out of the way first. Just rip the bandage off, so to speak. You six were all in your rooms, safe and sound when it happened. But don't worry! You won't be unemployed long. I have an opening in my organization for one very special candidate! Unfortunately, there are six of you. So." He paused as the person to the Man's right conjured a large chest. He opened it up, revealing a multitude of archaic muggle blades, mostly daggers and knives. Cygnus quickly counted them: five. Not enough for all of them.

"Now I know that, as wizards, you do love your killing curses and stunning spells and all that other stuff. I know, that pureblood supremacists, and I know some of you are," he said looking at Cygnus. "Completely repulsed by the idea of killing someone in such a _muggle_ fashion. But, you must admit, those muggles have come up with many ingenious and creative ways to kill each other off! So, without further ado!" The Man's voice was filling with excitement as he continued. "Last man standing gets the prize!"

The knives and daggers fell out of the chest onto the floor, and the bindings around Cygnus's wrists and ankles disappeared. Without thinking, Cygnus rushed forward and grabbed the first blade he could and plunged it into the chest of the nearest man. There was something very different about killing someone with a wand and killing someone with a dagger. A swift killing curse, while filled with hatred, still had a somewhat detached feeling to it. It was done from afar. It wasn't messy. It was professional, in a way.

Cygnus wasn't prepared for the blood, the look of shock upon the man's face, and the scream that died in his victim's throat as Cygnus watched the life drain from the man's eyes up close. Something died in Cygnus when that happened. He quickly, and with a new sense of detachment, turned and quickly slashed the throat of another man, before putting the dagger through the eye of a third. The only other man still alive had killed the fourth man. Cygnus was without a weapon as the other man charged. They struggled for a bit, before Cygnus managed to tackle the other man and slowly pushed the man's hands downward, slowly plunging the knife into the man's own chest, blood draining out behind him.

He heard clapping. Turning around, Cygnus saw the Man in Red with his two lackeys. He slowly walked toward them, as they through a red cloak around his shoulders and handed him a mask, just like their. As he put it on, he felt a magic, bond with him, like something, or someone was invading his very soul. He tried to fight it for a bit, but the recent bloodbath had left him too detached from himself to resist for long. He was given his wand back as they walked into the Grand Foyer of Markoff's mansion. There, hanging from her arms from the ceiling was Dasha.

"Now," the Man in Red whispered into Cygnus's ear. Cygnus briefly thought that it was strange, as the Man in Red was not standing next to him at all, but he did not dwell on it long, as he felt his own sense of self slip away slowly, staying tethered, but just barely, by the thinnest of connections. "To truly enter my employ, kill the girl."

Without thought or feeling, Cygnus raised his wand, and slashed quickly to the side, causing Dasha's throat to split open, blood pouring out, and spraying onto the floor where the rest of her family and father's employees lay slain in puddles of dried blood. The last connection Cygnus had to himself snapped and drifted away, as the mask took over completely.


End file.
